


rewind

by aloneintherain



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Allusions to past bullying, Crack Treated Seriously, Gen, implied spideytorch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 04:20:40
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10632075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aloneintherain/pseuds/aloneintherain
Summary: 8 people who lied to de-aged!Peter, and one person who told him the truth.





	

1.

Thor’s brother is a trickster in every sense of the word. He’s unpredictable on Asgard, but on Midgard, amongst mortals and contemporary buildings, he’s dangerous. Having his brother near mortals sets Thor’s teeth on edge.

Especially the mortal children.

“Thor.” Spider-Man crouches a dozen feet away from the demigods. Thor isn’t sure if the young hero is braced lowly so he can spring away at the first sign of trouble, or because he makes a smaller, less threatening target like this. “Back away. Loki’s not going to cooperate.”

“I’m sorry,” Loki says, “have we met?”

“I’m sure you've heard of me,” Spider-Man says. “I’m kind of a big deal.”

“Thor, I thought recruiting mortals to your cause was as far as you could sink. Hiring children? For shame.”

“Hey!” Spider-Man stands. Loki’s gaze sharpens; he’s a predator zoning in on a weakness, spotting the smallest of the herd from across the barren street. “I’m not a child, the same way you’re not—and never will be—a king.”

“Spider-Man,” Thor begins, but it’s too late.

A burst of light hits Spider-Man across the chest. The young hero lets out a grunt and tumbles backward. He grows smaller, smaller, until his red and blue spandex is just a loose ball of fabric.

“There,” Loki says. “Now no one will mistake you for anything else.”

Thor forgets about his brother. He hurries to Spider-Man’s side, searching through the spandex. Has Loki cast his young shield-brother into another dimension? Spider-Man is strong, but his mortal body might not be able to withstand—

The bundle of red and blue moves, and from its depths rises a reddening face. Teary eyes peer shyly up at Thor, small mouth wobbling, shoulders shrinking under Thor’s shocked stare. The child shrinks back into the spandex.

“It’s alright.” Thor gently pulls him up to his chest, and hushes nonsensically into his soft, messy hair. Some of the tension eases off of the child. His breathing evens out, and some of the redness leaves his chubbier cheeks.

Spider-Man rubs at his eye with a fist. “Who’re you?” After a pause, he adds, “Sir.”

“I am Thor, God of Thunder.”

The child blinks. “Oh. I’m Peter.”

“I know,” Thor says.

“Oh. Um, sir?”

“Yes, small one?”

Spider-Man’s nose wrinkles at the name. “Where’s my Aunt and Uncle?”

“I… do not know.” Tears refill his eyes. Thor hurries to continue, “But they’re both alright. They asked me to take care of you.”

Peter looks up at him from under his lashes. His eyes are very big and very wet. “Really?”

Thor tightens his grip on Spider-Man. Loki has long since vanished in a swirl of robes and gold platted armour. There is no one here to witness this, or take Peter from him. No rightful guardians, no Aunt and Uncle, to guide Thor through this.

“Really.”

 

* * *

 

 

2\. Fury

“What,” Fury says, “is this?”

“A Midgardian child,” Thor says, unconcerned by Fury’s glowering, or the small child in his arms.

The kid is pale and scrawny. Scabbed, knobbly knees stick out from the bundle of red fabric he’s wrapped in. Dark bruises litter his shins. Brown hair flops into his eyes. The brat is squinting. He probably lost his glasses.

“I can see that. Where did he come from?”

“This,” Thor begins, hefting the child closer to his chest, “is Peter Parker.”

“Don’t you think we’re taking the kid jokes a little far now? I know he’s young, but Jesus.”

“It really is him. My brother did something. A spell.” The kid pokes Thor in the chin. The demigod doesn’t look offended by the gesture, just shifts his attention to Peter. “Yes, little one?”

“Is he a pirate?” Peter whispers. He squints dubiously at Fury. “He doesn’t have a beard…”

“What he lacks in facial hair he makes up for in spirit,” Thor promises.

The child looks skeptical. “Hm.”

Fury sighs. At this point in his career, he doesn’t have it in him to be properly surprised by anything anymore. Something like this has happened in the past—a nightmare weekend in which his best agents were turned into mischievous and traumatised ten year olds.

At least by this point Peter has accumulated enough friends to look out for him. The vigilante is well-liked (even if the brat seems to be oblivious to this fact). Fury doesn’t have to personally play babysitter this weekender anymore than he normally does.

“Where are his glasses?” Fury asks. “He’s going to hurt his eyes squinting like that.”

“Spider-Man’s vision is fine without glasses”

“That was before the bite. He wore them at this age.”

Fury rubs at his temple. Shit. Someone will have to call May Parker and inform her that her tiny, teenage charge was now an even tinier child. He would’ve had an intern do it if it wouldn’t compromise Spider-Man’s identity, and he didn’t think May Parker would personally storm the helicarrier if she knew was being blown off when Peter was in trouble.

“Are really you a pirate?” Peter asks him. He seems comfortable in Thor’s arm, but he doesn’t seem to trust the older man’s opinion on pirate-related matters.

“Yes,” Fury says without hesitation.

“Did you steal me, then?”

“I’m the good kind of pirate,” Fury tells him. “I defected.”

Peter and Thor both nod at this. Fury sighs, and waves Thor and his bundle towards the door. “Come on, Thor. We need to get this whole thing straightened out. I think we have some kid’s clothes tucked away somewhere.”

 

* * *

 

 

3\. Flash Thompson

As they walk, Peter plays with Thor’s cape. He fiddles with the ends, tugs on it, feels the soft, royal fabric against his skin. Thor is happy to watch him.

Most agents ignore them as they pass, but one person decked out in seamless black freezes when he recognises the baggy spandex Peter is dressed in.

“That’s Spider-Man’s…” Agent Venom begins. He notices Peter cuddled up in Thor’s arms. “Peter?”

Peter blinks at him. “Um.”

“Director Fury, is… is that really him?”

“Unfortunately.”

“You recognise him?” Thor asks, lifting a great, golden eyebrow.

Flash nods numbly. “We were childhood friends.”

Thor holds out Peter. Flash carefully takes Peter in his arms as though he is something infinitely precious and breakable.

“Hey, little guy.”

“Don’t drop him,” Fury warns.

Flash huffs out a breath. He leans in close to Peter, and peals back the black suit obscuring his face. He offers up a small smile. “How’re you doing, little buddy?”

Peter goes noticeably stiff in Thor’s arms.

“I look different, right?” Flash grins, and his teeth flash. Peter shrinks away. “Hey, hey, it’s me. Flash, remember?”

“Maybe,” Fury says slowly, “don’t tell the seven year old that?”

“I’m Flash’s uncle?”

Peter’s shuttered expression doesn’t change, even as he opens his mouth, and says, “I woke up with my head all hazy, and surrounded by completely different technology and men that can suddenly fly.” Fury turns his glare on Thor, for that. The Avenger shrugs. “I know something is wrong with time. You were both talking about it in front of me.” Peter leans away from Flash’s chest, but doesn’t take his eyes away from his face. “And now Flash is here, and he’s supposed to be my age…”

“Geniuses,” Fury curses under his breath.

“I got bigger,” Flash agrees, jostling Peter on his hip. Peter tries to squirm right out of his arms.

Thor swoops in and takes Peter back. The child hides his face in Thor’s chest plate.

Flash stares at his empty hands. He swallows. “I’m sorry,” he says to all of them. “I must’ve… I must’ve gotten his age wrong.”

“Peter,” Fury says, not taking his eyes off of Flash, “how old are you?”

“Seven.”

“And how long has your Flash been pushing you around?”

Peter peaks at Flash from behind his arms. Flash looks back at him with big eyes. Peter ducks back down into Thor’s armour. “A few weeks,” he says, voice muffled.

“Well, that explains it then.” Flash laughs and very resolutely doesn’t look at Fury. “I was awful to you for a little while, but then I apologised and made it up to you and we became friends again.” Peter looks up. Very gently, Flash says, “I’m so sorry for treating you like that, Peter.”

Peter relaxes. He doesn’t smile, but there’s relieved in the way in shoulders slump.

“That’s alright,” Peter says.

Flash clears his throat, and puts his mask back on. “You should get those bruises looked at, Pete. I don’t want you to be in any pain, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Thompson,” Fury says, “we’re going to have words later.”

“Yes, sir.”

 

* * *

 

 

4–6. Tony Stark, Steve Rogers, and Natasha Romanoff

The cafeteria at the helicarrier is an organised mess, most days. Tony avoids it when he can, but today, he has teammates to track down. He heads into the cafeteria with a tablet full of specs under one arm, and immediately regrets it.

“Jesus Christ!” Tony stares at the child sat on the table. The child stares back with huge eyes. “Is that a fucking gremlin?”

“No, I’m a third grader,” the gremlin says.

Tony scrubs a hand through his hair. “Whatever, just no one feed that thing after midnight.”

“Tony,” Steve warns.

“Tony Stark?” The kid blinks once, twice, a third time. In a thin voice, he says, “I’m Peter.”

“Peter,” Tony echoes.

Peter chews on a straw. His eyes are very wide above the juice box. Is he in a secret intelligence organisation, or had Tony taken a wrong turn and wandered into an elementary school?

“Is SHIELD hiring children now?”

Natasha plunks down next to Steve. “They hired Clint.”

“They hired Spid—” Tony begins, and then looks at Peter again. “Holy shit. Peter.”

Steve doesn’t scold him for his language this time. “I know.”

“Is this what happens when you don’t eat your greens? I warned you not to drink too much coffee, munchkin.”

“I’m not allowed coffee,” Peter says.

“Damn right you’re not. I’m not having you disappear into a foetus. At least now you still have working thumbs to help me in the lab.”

“Child labour laws, Tony,” Natasha says with the edge of a smirk. Tony smirks right back, and lifts his shoulder in a shrug.

Peter turns his attention on Natasha. He seems a little awed. Tony would be jealous if Peter hadn’t been more excited meeting him for the first time, both as an seven year old and a fifteen year old.

“Hello,” Peter says shyly. “Are you a superhero, too?”

Natasha returns his small smile. “I am. I’m the Black Widow.”

Peter gasps for a second time. “You’re a spider-themed hero!”

Oh, this is fucking precious. “You like spiders, squirt?” Tony asks with a raised eyebrow and a shared grin with Steve.

Peter nods. His little face is so serious. “I used to be afraid of them but my Aunt and Uncle got me this big book of arachnids for my birthday. Now I know they’re not all that scary. They’re cute. My favourite is the Goliath Birdeater because they can grow up to be a foot long. The size of a small dog!”

“Neat,” Tony manages, even as shivers creep up his spine.

Peter beams. “I want one as a pet one day!”

Tony looks at Peter’s cute face, the floppy hair dropping into his eyes, the freckles smattered over the bridge of his nose. Why is it always the cute ones that end up crazy?

“But the Black Widow is cool, too,” Peter rushes to reassure Natasha. She smiles to show she isn’t mad. “Do you eat the men you have sex with, too?”

Tony chokes. Steve bites his lip and looks heavenward, trying not to laugh.

“I haven’t yet,” Natasha says.

“Well, most examples of sexual cannibalism in Black Widows was mostly in closed environments, so I’m not sure if that actually counts? The male spiders couldn’t get away, so…”

Peter trails off. His shoulders curl. The adults watch him carefully.

“Peter?” Steve urges.

“You don’t want to listen to this stuff. Sorry. I shouldn’t ramble.”

“We don’t mind listening,” Natasha promises.

“No, I know it’s boring. It’s okay.”

“Peter.” The kid glances up at firm, coaxing voice of Captain America. The blotchy redness spreading over his cheeks isn’t unfamiliar, neither is the way his unsure eyes dart from the tabletop to the superheroes seated around him.

But the muted shame, the guilty purse of his lips, keeping his words down, doesn’t fit Peter—not as a spindly teenager, and not as an seven year old. Peter Parker is a rambling, unstoppable mess of a conversationalist. He isn’t this.

“Who taught you not to talk about your interests?” Natasha asks.

Peter’s hands bunch in his borrowed sweatshirt. “No one.”

“Peter.”

Peter squirms in his seat. He isn’t as stubborn as their teenager Peter. “The—the kids at school and my teachers. They said I talk too much about things people don’t care about. Nobody wants to know about spiders.”

“I do,” Tony says, and the words don’t feel entirely fake in his mouth. With Peter blinking at him like that, slouching as though all the energy had been leached from him, it isn’t entirely lie. “I’d love to hear about spiders.”

Steve shares a knowing glance with him. “I’m interested in spiders, too.”

Hesitantly, testing the feel of each word in his mouth, Peter tells them: “The only species that eat their mates in the wild are in the Southern Hemisphere. Other species ate their mates in captivity, where the males were stuck and couldn’t get away.”

“Clint is safe, then,” Tony says.

Peter cocks his head. Steve snickers into his palm. Natasha says, completely relaxed across from an impressionable seven year old, “Of course he is. I’ve never killed anyone before.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

7\. Clint Barton

“Is that…?”

“Spider-Man’s a kid, now.”

Clint eyes Natasha. “Spider-Man was already a kid. Now he’s even more of a kid? A Spider-Baby?” Clint shakes his head. “What the fuck, Nat. What the fuck.”

Steve sighs through his nose. “Everyone keeps swearing in front of this kid. He’s seven. Please stop.”

Clint shrugs. “He’s a smart kid, he knows better than to pick it up.”

“Fuck,” says the baby Spider-Man.

“Shit,” Clint says.

Baby Spider-Man beams. The turd. “Shit!”

“Clint,” Steve says.

“I… I have stuff to do. Away from here. Away from your death glare and this tiny child. Goodbye.”

Natasha grabs him by the collar and stops him from hurrying away. She shoves him toward the tiny, big eyed Spider-Man.

“Make friends,” she orders.

“Please,” Clint says.

Peter’s eyes get even bigger. “Do you… do you not like me?”

“No! I mean yes. I mean, of course I like you.” Clint rocks back on his heels and takes a steading breath. “Sorry, I’m usually good with kids. You just surprised me. I’m Clint.”

Peter looks at the ground. He’s a small kid. He’d been a small teenager, but there is something about seeing him like this, a full foot shorter with even more baby fat, glasses perched on his nose, freckles lightly dusting his cheeks, that makes Clint feel old.

Peter sniffles and clings to the front of his shirt. “It’s okay. I get it. You don’t like me.”

The three Avengers glower at Clint. The archer sees his life flash before his eyes. He flails a little more, and rushes to assure the kid, “No, no, I like you plenty! We’re friends. Really good friends. We pushed Sam off a building once. It was awesome.”

Peter’s mouth falls open. “I pushed somebody off a building?”

“Um,” Clint says. Peter’s bottom lip wobbles and his eyes grow wet; Clint feels like he’s been struck. “No, I’m sorry! You’ve never pushed anyone off a building. I was just joking.”

Peter puts his hands over his face. He makes a loud, choked sound. His chest heaves dramatically.

(Behind Clint’s back, where the archer can’t see, Natasha holds Tony back. She whispers to Steve and Tony, “He’s faking.”

Tony looks from the increasingly hysterical child to Natasha with raised eyebrows. On Natasha’s other side, Steve muffles his laugh in his palm.

“No,” Tony whispers, a little awed. “Are you sure?”

“I’ve seen Peter really cry,” Natasha says back, too low for Clint to hear. “I’ve seen him cry crocodile tears, too. He’s better at it when he’s sixteen, though I have to hand it to the kid, he’s doing a pretty good job now. Adults panic when kids cry, but this won’t last very long. Clint will figure him out sooner or later.”

“Hopefully later,” Tony says.

Steve beams at the sobbing kid. “He’s talented.”

“He’s evil,” Tony says.

“He’s a tiny mastermind,” Natasha agrees, “and I’m so proud him.”)

“You’ve never pranked any of us,” Clint says, laying a cautious hand on Peter’s shaking head.

Peter looks up at him with red eyes. Clint is too shaken to notice that there aren’t the right amount of tears for how hard Peter has been crying. “You swear?”

“I swear.”

 

* * *

 

 

8\. Johnny Storm

Johnny Storm stares down at the child version of his best friend with abject horror. The kid is wearing a science t-shirt that wouldn’t have looked amiss on teenage Peter. His teeth are still crooked. The Parkers must’ve still been saving up. Johnny is almost disappointed that he missed out on seeing prepubescent Peter in duck-taped glasses and bracers in person rather than just in the childhood photos May sneaks him behind Peter’s back.

“Hello,” says the tiny version of Peter Parker. Johnny wants to die a little bit. “I’m Peter. Who’re you?”

Somewhere behind him, Sue and Ben are laughing.

Johnny isn’t sure what his face is doing, but Peter looks concerned. He watches Johnny like he thinks he’s about to have a stroke.

“God,” Johnny blurts, “my weird crush is even weirder now.”

Peter blinks up at Johnny. “You have a crush on me?”

“Not you you. You when you’re older, but not too much older? That would be even weirder. You’re my age. Shit, do you even know you’re in the future? Has someone told you that yet? Did I just blow the whole secret?” Peter isn’t freaking out, at least. That’s good. Johnny might be freaking out. Johnny looks at Peter helplessly. “I’m not creepy, I promise.”

Peter blinks again. Did the kid get all of that? Johnny had spoken very quickly. He’s spent too much time around his Peter. Word vomit is, apparently, contagious.

“Um,” Peter begins. “I don’t think you’re creepy. You’re very pretty.”

Johnny chokes. In the background, Sue and Ben dissolve into hysterics. Peter, thankfully, ignores them.

“Your hair is very blond,” Peter continues, oblivious to the heat in Johnny’s cheeks. “You’re very tall, too. I bet a lot of people like you a lot, even if you haven’t gotten the hang of talking like a normal person yet.” Peter squints up at Johnny. It’s a mini version of the suspicious glare teenage Peter gives Johnny whenever he’s stolen his food, or leaked something to the press, or tweeted something especially embarrassing about Spider-Man without consulting him first. “Do you really have a crush on me? You’re too pretty to like someone like me.”

It’s Johnny’s turn to blink. “Of course I do. You’re smart, and funny, and the bravest person I know.” Johnny smiles wolfishly. “You’re also very pretty when you’re older.”

“Oh.”

“I really, really hope you don’t remember this when you’re older.”

The kid keeps staring up at Johnny, almost shy under the teenager’s gaze. Johnny isn’t used to a bashful Spider-Man.

“Do I…” Peter fiddles with his glasses. It’s impossibly cute. “Do I have a crush on you, too?”

Johnny rubs at his head. “No. You don’t.”

Ben coughs loudly in the background. Peter cocks his head like a curious baby animal. Through gritted teeth, Johnny says, “We’re just friends.”

“Friends,” Peter echoes. Ben hacks into his palm. Johnny ignores him.

“Exactly.”

Peter’s grin is a blinding thing. His freckled nose scrunches up and his crooked teeth are on full display. “I don’t have many of those… Do you want to go play?”

“Absolutely.”

Johnny scoops Peter up under the arms, and jogs away from his teammates. Sue shouts something at his turned back, something about being the responsible one, about staying on the base, about not wandering into trouble. With an armful of tiny Peter, it’s difficult to pay attention to anything but the open sky and the worshipping sheen in the kid’s eyes.

“You ever flown before, buddy?” Peter shakes his head, and Johnny grins. He breaks out into a run. Peter squeals into his shoulder and clings to Johnny. “How about I show you?”

 

* * *

 

 

 

\+ 1 Aunt May

 

Peter is curled in the kitchen beside the dryer and a washing basket full of clean laundry. Their old dryer rumbles as it spins, turning the air heavy and damp with the smell of drying clothes. Peter has taken sheets fresh from the dryer and draped them over himself like a cloak. A Stark Pad is balanced in his hands.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” May asks. His mouth tugs downward. His narrow shoulders are curled around his ears. May knows that look.

Peter nods, yes. Something crashes loudly on his screen, and he curls up a little tighter. He shakes his head, no.

May lowers herself to the tiled floor, her knees clicking. She wraps an arm around Peter’s small shoulders. Peter leans back against her.

When Fury first told her about her nephew’s transformation, she had been worried. He’d reassured her that Peter would revert back to his teenage self after a few days, but that didn’t stop her from worrying. A lot can happen in a few days.

A lot can happen in a few years. There’s almost a decade between her Peter and the one that had turned up on her doorstep this afternoon, windswept and dazed in Johnny Storm’s arms.

She’s glad they haven’t lost their closeness.This Peter burrows against her side without shame, the same way he had when he was seven the first time around, the same way he still does now, too gangly to properly fit.

Peter angles the screen towards her, and all the breath leaves May in a rush.

The YouTube footage is blurry; the cameraperson is running and ducking amongst the chaos of the fight. The invading platoon of aliens are grey, hulking things with wet teeth and dull armour. The Avengers are bright spots of colour in the sea of grey.

Spider-Man’s spandex is offensively vibrant. He twirls through the air and lands atop a streetlight. From his perch, he shoots web after web until the road is carpeted with struggling aliens. Spider-Man spots the cameraperson and bows low.

Peter fast-forwards the video. He’s watched it before, May realises; he knows the spot to search for.

“That’s Thor,” Peter says, pointing. Thor lands on the path, cement crackling underfoot. Spider-Man bounces up to the Avenger, and Thor breaks out into a sunny smile.

Iron Man lands with Hawkeye and Black Widow in his arms. Spider-Man salutes the three of them. Natasha nods, and Clint punches his arm. Iron Man’s faceplate comes up, and the billionaire slides an arm around Spider-Man’s shoulder. He gestures at the alien laden street and tips his head; he seems to be impressed. Spider-Man blooms under his praise like a flower unfurling in the sun.

“That’s Natasha,” Peter says, pointing at the redhead, “and that’s Clint. That’s Tony. And this.” Peter puts a finger on Spider-Man. The vigilante looks like he belongs under a beaming Tony Stark’s arm, looks like he was born to stand shoulder to shoulder with the Avengers, their enemies tied up at his feet. “Is this me?”

Captain America and Falcon joins the growing congregation of heroes. Steve and Tony start bickering. Spider-Man bounces away from Tony and over to Sam and starts babbling, hands moving in big gestures. Sam looks very tired, but he doesn’t scold or snap at the vigilante.

Peter’s expression is unreadable. May struggles to understand her boy sometimes. He’s a person in constant movement. He fidgeted and bounced and got into too much trouble; his mind whirled and stuck on things May would have skipped over; he cared so deeply and dangerously, a selfless love that pushed him to sneak money into her wallet when she wasn’t looking or crawl into the city’s underbelly in nothing but shimmery spandex to protect complete strangers.

May can’t stop Peter, she knows that, but she can trust him. She can hold onto him whenever he comes back to her, in whatever state that happened to be.

“That’s you,” May says.

Peter takes in a shuddering breath. “I thought so.”

May holds him a little closer. “How are you feeling?”

“Embarrassed about my future self’s wardrobe choices.”

They look at the Spider-Man on screen. Johnny Storm has wound his way to his best friend’s side and is laughing at something that made the shorter vigilante try and web him to a wall.

“I think you’re pretty proud of the suit, actually.”

“Did I make it?”

“You made your very first one. Tony Stark made you that one.”

“Okay,” Peter says. He rewinds the video. May reaches out and pulls the bed-sheet further over both their shoulders. They sit there for a long time, cycling through YouTube clips of New York superheroes, and listening to the reassuring rumble of the dryer.

May stands up when the light begins to dwindle. Her knees click again. She’s not the same person she was 10 years ago.

“Aunt May?” Peter’s drowning in the sheet. He looks up at her the same way he had then, when he was seven—the way he still does, sometimes.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“Thank you for telling me the truth.”

**Author's Note:**

> I was originally going to have Sam Wilson in here because Sam Wilson, but I ran out of time. I'm supposed to be going out for drinks... 10 minutes ago. I'll read through this again and update the tags/notes/ect sometime later. 
> 
> I'm also aware that third graders are usually 8-9 in America (thanks, google), but Peter probably skipped a grade lbr. Also, I had to slide that reference in there. That reference was 80% of the reason I wrote this.
> 
> In case you guys were confused what people lied to Peter about, a recap: Peter absolutely skipped a year  
> sam was supposed to be in here, was supposed to have this big segment to himself because I fucking love Sam Wilson, but I got tired. The Avengers are all a scrambled mess in canon, they can be a scrambled mess in this too. 
> 
> end notes:  
> \- Thor lied about both Peter's Aunt and Uncle being alright  
> \- Fury lied about being a pirate  
> \- Tony and Steve both lied about being interested in spiders. Natasha lied about never having killed anybody.  
> \- Clint lied about Peter never pushing someone off a building (and generally not being a pranking little shit)  
> \- Johnny lied about his crush being unrequited.  
> \- And May told the truth about Peter being Spider-Man.


End file.
